Chapter 79 – Bonnie
BONNIE
My foot touches the bottom step, and I look up. So much has happened in the nine years since I was last here and yet, it looks exactly the same.
My breath catches as my hand connects with the railing, the old wooden step groaning beneath my foot when I shift my weight.
I can do this. I think, repeating the words I told the guys before we parted ways. They wanted to be here; to support me, I could see it in their eyes. But I also saw the trepidation and struggle they thought they were hiding from me.
And the relief when I told them this was something I had to do alone. Just Mitchell and I, closing a door that I left open when I accepted the new life he offered, abandoning my old one.
To the guys, I chose this weekend because it’s one month before that day. But the truth is, today holds an entirely different anniversary.
Swallowing, I raise my hand and rap my knuckles against the front door, ignoring the way they shake with fear.
“What are you doing here?” She sneers when she spots me. Since the day Michael introduced me to them, they’ve looked at me like this. Like I’m so far beneath them, I’m not worth their time.
Her husband steps into view, opening the door further and together, they stare down at me, not offering to let me inside.
This was a mistake.
Pushing through the building dread, I pull in a deep breath and muster up every ounce of courage I can.
“Go get the phone,” he tell his wife, and I panic.
“No! Please,” I beg, my voice cracking instantly. “I-I need help.”
“Then get it from your husband. Go home.” Why did I think I’d get any form of compassion from these people?
I shake my head, tears welling in my eyes. “Please, I can’t go back there. Don’t make me go back there.”
“Stop being so dramatic. Go. Home,” he repeats, his voice firm, his stance unwavering. Dramatic.
“H-He hurt me.”
“What did you do?” I recoil at the accusing note of his question, my eyes moving to his wife who has an impassive expression on her face, not giving a shit about me.
“Nothing. I…dinner burnt because he-”
“That's what I thought. How a man punishes his wife’s miscomings is no business of ours. Try doing as your told.”
“And paying better attention next time,” his wife adds on.
Miscomings.
Next time.
I lift my shirt, exposing the massive bruise that spans from my ribs just below my boob down to my thigh. “Look what he did to me! You call this a punishment?”
“If you don’t like it, behave.”
“He raped me.” I turn to his wife, pleading with everything I have left.
“I told him no, but he just held me down and-” my voice cuts off as last night flashes behind my eyes, the way he slammed his fist into my side, how his eyes lit up when I cried out in pain.
Him shoving my face into the kitchen tile with all of his weight as he-
She scoffs, continuing to look down at me with cold, detached eyes. This really was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.
“He is your husband. It is not your place to tell him no.” With that, she slams the door in my face, and I stand there stunned.
I knew she was against me marrying her son. I overheard her telling him the same night he introduced us, that I wasn’t good enough for him. But…as a woman I thought…
Shaking my head, I stumble back, catching myself on the railing when my foot meets air and I fall back.
I need to get out of here. I never should have come here. There’s no way they haven’t already called him. If he finds me here, it’ll be so much worse.
No sooner than I’ve thought the words, the sound of a car rumbling hits my ears and tires screech as the car comes to an abrupt stop in the driveway.
My eyes widen and I take an involuntary step back when he climbs out of the car, slamming the door shut. He marches across the lawn, and I just stand there, frozen. For a second, I see nothing but fury and hatred in his eyes, but then he blinks, and it’s gone, leaving me second guessing myself.
“Bonnie!” he snaps then clears his throat and tries again.
This time his voice comes out softer and he forces a smile to his face.
“Baby-” He wraps a hand around my arm, squeezing tighter and tighter until I flinch.
“-you had me so worried. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.
” His words sound caring, but his tone is anything but. He’s mad. Like, really mad.
He pulls me closer, throwing his other arm around my shoulder without releasing me. To anyone else, it might look like he’s hugging me. Comforting me. Being sweet as he kisses my temple. But I don’t feel comforted. Don’t feel loved. I just feel numb.
“Come on, let’s get you home,” he whispers, dragging me toward the car. My shoulders drop and I sigh in defeat. I don’t fight him when he opens the door, or when he roughly shoves me inside, slamming the door.
Discreetly, I test the door handle, my eyes never leaving his as he rounds the front of the car to the driver’s side. An anvil slams down on my chest when I pull, and nothing happens.
He must have installed a child lock on the front passenger door.
His door opens and he gets in, turning the ignition on and pulling out onto the road without so much as a word to me.
Houses blur passed and my eyes burn as I’m left wondering if this is what the rest of my life is to be like. Am I to be a prisoner in this marriage? Forced to serve him in every aspect, whether I want to or not?
No.
No more. I can’t take anymore of this. His parents may think this is what I deserve, but I know I don’t.
I’m done. They may have slammed the door in my face rather than help me escape the monster that is their son, but they’re not my only path to freedom.
I can free myself.
We stop at a red light and Michael reaches over, taking my hand and putting it on his thigh with a tight enough grip I know better than to move it away.
Just one more night.
Tomorrow when he leaves for work, I’ll pack a bag and leave. I’ll go back home. To Charlie and Jace. They might not want me anymore, but they’d never treat me like this.
Tomorrow.
“Bonnie?” Mitchell’s voice sounds through my earphones, snapping me out of the memory from nine years ago. Exactly nine years ago.
The day I tried to leave my husband and went to his parents for help only for them to send me right back to him. The day before I stupidly agreed to go on that honeymoon which was just a trap for him to fake my death.
“We can do this another day if you’re not ready,” he whispers, his voice soft and filled with real love and support. Not the fake kind still echoing in my ears from the memory. God, how did I ever fall for the facade he used to pull me in?
“I’m ready.” I am. I’m not the same girl who stood here begging for their help. Not the same girl who fell for their son’s lies.
I’m stronger than that. I know what it feels like to be loved by someone who truly loves me. Who cherishes me. By not one, but three men who would rather die than lay a hand on me or see me hurt in any way.
Marching up the steps, I bang my fist against the wooden door and step to the side. Unfortunately, their fancy new doorbell camera they purchased three months ago has been on the fritz, glitching like crazy so they have no choice but to get up and open the door to see who it is.
The door opens and I don’t waste a second, slamming my body against it so she can’t slam it in my face. Her eyes widen when she recognises me and I smile at the fear in them, at the colour draining from her face.
Stepping inside, I kick the door shut behind me, reaching back and turning the deadbolt, my eyes never leaving hers.
“Get out!” she screams, her voice shaking. There was a time when someone raising their voice at me would have me cowering in fear, waiting for the pain that would surely follow.
But not today. Not ever again.
She bolts and I follow at a leisurely pace, not needing to chase her because I know where she’s going, and what’s waiting for her there. Sure enough, when I step into the dining room, she’s standing frozen as Mitchell aims his gun at her, his hand on her husband’s shoulder.
Her husband who is passed out, blood dripping down the side of his face. I raise a brow at Mitchell, and he shrugs, not even a little repentant. I shake my head but don’t comment. I couldn’t care less if the prick is hurt. He never cared that I was.
“What did you do to him?” she demands, glaring at me with hatred but not daring to move with a gun trained on her.
“Sit,” I order, ignoring her question. She doesn’t and I don’t bother asking a second time. I just kick the back of her knees, enjoying the cry she lets out when she hits the ground. Grapping a handful of hair, I drag her, kicking and screaming to the char. “I said, sit.”
Sniffling, she does as she’s told, tears rolling down her face and I shake the chunk of hair out of my glove covered hand.
Gone is the perfectly poised woman who thinks she’s better than everyone else. In her place is this pathetic excuse of a human being, trembling in fear, a chunk of her hair at my feet and her mascara running down her cheeks.